Cooking Lessons
by KSFWolfe
Summary: Sequel to I'm Gonna Scream in a Minute: Grimmjow, for reasons known only to himself, has decided that he wants to learn how to...COOK. And there's only one person he can turn to in this situation...slight GrimmUlqui. Depends on how you read it. :HIATUS:
1. Lesson One

Okay, You guys were asking for it...COOKING LESSONS! some people were asking for this...so IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU HEAR? You know who you are.  
To everyone else: I'm sorry, but THEY MADE ME DO IT. *points accusing finger*

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Cooking Lesson #1

"Okay. So first, you have to preheat the oven…" Ulquiorra fiddled with some dials on the stove. His fingers brushed one of the touchup jobs that Grimmjow had done with white wash and spray-paint. Grimmjow held his breath. The places where he had burned the stove top were not quite as smooth as the rest of the thing. If Ulquiorra noticed…he might cancel his cooking tutorials. Which he had, for some unconceivable reason actually agreed to.

"You get that, Sexta? Then you do all the other stuff while the oven heating up."

After Ulquiorra's temporary mental breakdown of the week before, the Espada had washed his raven hair of the green dye he had used on a whim, and had reverted back to his usual self. His detached, fairly disdainful self. But though he was now removing himself again from the others, it seemed as though there was something…a little…different.

Grimmjow nodded. He examined the recipe that Ulquiorra had picked. "So we're gonna cook this pastry thing?"

"Yes."

Why did Grimmjow want to learn how to cook? Well, it wasn't exactly clear in his own mind. He kinda liked it. It was exciting. And Grimmjow cooking was little less than a daredevil sport.

Cooking involves fire. Fire means explosions are imminent.

But also, Grimmjow was always hungry. Thought not as much as Yammy. Yammy is a beastly food vacuum. But Grimmjow hates waiting for food to be made, so maybe he wanted to learn how to cook so he could randomly make his own food and eat it whenever he liked.

Ulquiorra was assembling ingredients. "Big difference," he said, holding up two bags of flour, "Between different types of flour. Remember to make sure you have the right type."

"Hmmm."

"Okay. Now, I'm going to show you how to use the stove." Ulquiorra looked sharply at Grimmjow. "You'd better watch, Sexta, because if you blow anything up and burn my nice stove, I swear, I will Cero you into oblivion!"

Grimmjow gulped and decided to pay attention.

Ulquiorra pushed the dial forward. "You have to press it in so you can turn it," he explain. "Hear that clicking noise?"

Grimmjow heard the clicking noise.

"That's the spark. Wait for three clicks, and then turn the dial." Ulquiorra maneuvered the dial. The flame shot up, then subsided as he turned it down. "Make sure you get it down fast." He stepped back. "You try."

Grimmjow advanced on the stove. He had used it before, but now that Ulquiorra had told him how it was supposed to be used, he was unsure of how he had done it. He vaguely remembered putting on the gas and Cero-ing the burner…or had he used the dial? Grimmjow pushed the dial forward.

_Click. Click. Click._

Three.

Grimmjow turned it counterclockwise. The clicking went on. The dial didn't turn. A puff of smoke…

"_Clockwise, Sexta! Clockwise!"_

Oh. Grimmjow quickly turned it the other way, coughing in the smoke. A flame jumped up, and then died. Ulquiorra coughed. He waved his hands to dissipate the smoke. Grimmjow looked at him. The normally pale Arrancar's face was smudged black. It made him look faily ridiculous. Grimmjow stifled a laugh.

Ulquiorra, did not.

He hid a smile behind his hand. He chuckled.

Grimmjow frowned. "What?"

"Your face is black." Ulquiorra said, voice muffled behind his pale hand. Grimmjow examined himself in the stainless steel fridge. It was true. Black rings had appeared around his eyes, giving him a somewhat raccoonish appearance. Grimmjow had to stop himself from laughing at his own reflection, because that would be rather embarrassing.

Ulquiorra laughing at him was just kinda…creepy?

The week before, when Ulquiorra had lost his mind/sanity/senses, he had laughed a lot. But it had been a kind of manic laugh of the lunatic, the type of laugh that threatens to turn into hysterics any moment.

This was a more normal laugh.

Or at least, it would be, if laughing was normal for Ulquiorra.

But it most definitely was not. Ulquiorra, the ice cold emotionless blank eyed Espada was _laughing?_ Grimmjow felt the way Yammy and Zommari had felt when they had first seen Ulquiorra's green hair: Is This the Apocalypse?

Grimmjow turned around to face the sooty faced Espada again. Ulquiorra had gained control of his features again. Grimmjow strode forward. "While soot on my face makes me look manly and rather warlike, it makes you look stupid. Here." He grabbed a paper towel and wet it. He handed it to Ulquiorra, who began dabbing at his face. He then handed to towel to Grimmjow.

"You missed a spot."

Ulquiorra was a bit taken aback, as the teal haired Espada carefully scrubbed at a portion of his cheek. Grimmjow flung the sooty paper towel into the trash. He frowned. "I thought it was make up," he admitted, embarrassed.

"what?"

"Those lines." He traced tear tracks along his own cheeks to show what he was speaking of. "but either they're water proof, or…"

Ulquiorra shrugged. "It's not make up, Grimmjow," he said, a little irritated. Make up was for girls. Like Haribel. And Nnoitra, who stole Haribel's. "They're…birthmarks, I suppose."

"That's pathetic. And kinda miserable." He snorted.

"What?"

"That your_ birthmarks_ make it look like you're _crying_. That makes it seem like you're destined to be a fucking emo for the rest of your sorry hollow-y existence."

Ulquiorra had never thought about it that way. Actually, he thought, probably only Grimmjow could think about that way.

Grimmjow turned back to the fridge, knocking over a chair in the process and startling Ulquiorra out of his thoughts.

"hmm." He examined himself in the reflection carefully. "I will leave this filth on my face, because it makes me look tough. That is all."

Ulquiorra rolled his eyes. Typical Grimmjow.

"Anyway…weren't we cooking?"

"No. I was trying to get you to cook. You were blowing out the gas and coming verrry close to setting something on fire. Like maybe the cabinets." Ulquiorra gestured to the cabinets. Grimmjow noticed that they were covered in soot. "Fuck!" He gasped in horror.

"Clean it up, won't you?"

"You are fucking evil! It'll take me all day! Those cabinets are _white_!"

"So are our uniforms." Ulquiorra pointed out.

Grimmjow looked dreadingly down at himself. He hadn't even noticed…

His blackened uniform. Or Ulquiorra's either, for that matter.

"Aizen's gonna murder us."

"Most probably."

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Hmmm...a little OOC in my opinion...going a bit over to the GrimmUlqui side...but, hell, who cares. Do you? *threatening* XP

And yes, my stove actually does that if you twist the dial wrong. go figure.


	2. Lesson Two

FINALLY! Chapter Two! *collapses* Sorry sorry sorry it took so LOOOOOOONG! I had a goal; submit this chapter before anything else. Thank you for waiting, but what are you reading this crap for? Continue to the story!

Bleach=not mine!

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"Spaghetti? Oh, come on, Ulquiorra! Spaghetti so _boring_!"

The pale Espada glared at the whining man. "After the last episode, I think that spaghetti is all you can handle," he said, icily.

Grimmjow scowled.

Ulquiorra handed him a giant pot. "Fill it with water."

Grimmjow complied. Once the pot was about two thirds full, he turned off the water, and tried to lift it out of the sink by its handle. "Shit! This thing is heavy!"

Ulquiorra rolled his eyes and approached from the side. He lifted the pot with one hand under it and one wrapped around Grimmjow's on the handle. "You have to lift it from beneath, idiot. Basic leverage."

Grimmjow went slightly red. Ulquiorra didn't seem to notice their extreme proximity; he just walked to the stove, dragging Grimmjow with him. "Do you remember how to work the stove, or not?"

Grimmjow nodded. He twisted the dial.

"Wrong burner. Use this knob." Ulquiorra jabbed at a different dial. Grimmjow obligingly turned that one, too.

"Turn off the other one, you fool!" Ulquiorra yelled, but turned off the other burner for him. Grimmjow scowled. "You need to give constructive criticism, Ulquiorra, not plain criticism!"

Ulquiorra ignored him. "Now, turn down the knob to a simmer," he instructed, crisply. "Put the lid on the pot, and now we wait for it to boil."

"But that could take forever!" Grimmjow whined.

"Try about fifteen minutes." Ulquiorra sat down at the table. Grimmjow sat opposite him. He sprawled in the chair, tilting it back on two legs.

"you're going to fall over if you keep doing that," Ulquiorra commented.

"No I won't," Grimmjow retorted.

"Yes you will."

"No I won't.

"yes, you actually will."

"Uh, NO, I fucking wo-" The legs of the chair slipped and Grimmjow flipped backwards, banging his head into the giant stainless steel fridge behind him, the very fridge that had terrorized him not too long ago. Now it was hurting him too? WHAT WAS THIS!?

"AW SHIT! FUCK THAT HURTS!" Grimmjow howled, rubbing his head. Ulquiorra almost smiled. _Almost._ Except that Ulquiorra did not smile. It went against his creed. Grimmjow disentangled himself from the chair and flipped it upright again. He glared at it. "Stupid chair," he growled, sitting down again. And not rocking.

A fly buzzed. Awkward silences ran over each other and the Pirates of the Caribbean theme seemed to play in the distance somewhere before petering out and dying. Grimmjow scratched his head. Ulquiorra looked at the ceiling absently.

The quiet became oppressing. This was pathetic. The two Espada couldn't even keep a conversation going. Grimmjow twitched. Ulquiorra did not twitch. Grimmjow fidgeted. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He opened it…and the buzzer went off on the stove. He jumped. Ulquiorra stood up and turned it off. "The water's boiled," he said, a bit unnecessarily.

"I noticed," the blue haired Espada growled, getting up. "what now?"

"Spaghetti…" Ulquiorra ripped open the packaging of a box of pasta. He dumped it into the boiling water, and handed Grimmjow a wooden spoon. "Now, stir it," he instructed. Grimmjow began aimlessly stirring. He flipped the spaghetti over; water splashed and the noodles slid over the side.

"Not like that!" Ulquiorra said, impatiently. He pushed Grimmjow aside and grabbed the spoon. "you have to do it gently, in a clockwise rotation," he said.

"What if I want to do it counter clockwise?"

"Then do it counter clockwise!" Ulquiorra stirred the pasta. Grimmjow walked up from behind him. "Okay, okay. I get it. Lemme do it." He reached around Ulquiorra for the spoon. Ulquiorra looked up at the taller man irritated. "You are so _immature!"_

Grimmjow grinned down at him. "Just let me stir the damn spaghetti." At that moment, Ulquiorra noticed exactly how close they were; Grimmjow's arms were practically wrapped around him. A faint-ever so faint- blush coloured the pale cheeks. Ulquiorra slid under the arm and stood beside Grimmjow, watching closely as he stirred the spaghetti vigorously.

After a little while, when Ulquiorra deemed it ready, they drained the noodles and put them in a huge bowl.

"Voila," Ulquiorra said, drily. "Spaghetti."

Grimmjow stared at the huge mass of pasta. "what do we do with it?"

A tiny frown from Ulquiorra. He hadn't thought of that. "Um…"

"Maybe we could refrigerate it."

"…and then what?"

Grimmjow shrugged. "Give it to Yammy," he advised. "Best damn way of getting rid of unwanted food."

Ulquiorra agreed. Yammy was a veritable food vacuum. "Alright. And next week we'll do something harder."

"What? Ooo, what? Tell me! Tell me!"

"No."

"TELL ME YOU BASTARD!"

Ulquiorra walked out of the kitchen, ignoring Grimmjow. He might have been smiling, but Ulquiorra didn't smile.

Most of the time.

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Chapter Three hopefully won't be so long in coming.

Hopefully.


	3. Interlude One

WH00T! Upload! *cheers self on* This is not a cooking lesson, tho. this is what's going on in the rest of Las noches...because, as much as we'd like it, Grimmy and Ulqui are not the centre of the universe...*sob*

And so, with out further ado, I present...

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INTERLUDE NO. 1 or, WHAT IS HAPPENING, MEANWHILE, IN THE BIGASS BUILDING THAT IS LAS NOCHES

"Has anyone seen Grimmjow lately?"

"NO, THANK GOD," Everyone in the room said, simultaneously.

"Has anyone seen Ulquiorra lately?"

"HE'S PROBABLY BEEN IN HIS ROOM CUTTING HIMSELF."

Aizen frowned. Gin smiled wickedly as he thought up various yaoi scenes between Grimmy-chan and Ulqui-chan. Tousen was expressionless. As per usual.

Aizen turned to Gin abruptly. "Gin," he said, "Would you please go locate those two?"

Gin grinned wider. "Of course, Aizen-sama," he said politely, "But don't you think I could be…interrupting something?"

Aizen, whose mental gutter was as clean as his normal mind, didn't sense the not so hidden meaning. "Erm, just find them, please," he repeated.

Gin rolled his eyes and turned away. Sometimes, he thought, Aizen-sama could be incredibly dense.

***

Gin wandered through the building, wondering where the hell the two Espada were. He had checked all the coat closets, the laundry room, both their bedrooms…he walked past the kitchen when a yell startled him.

"AW SHIT! FUCK THAT HURTS!"

It was all he needed to hear. Gin scurried back to Aizen. "They're in the kitchen," he said, blandly.

Aizen smiled, relieved. "Alright, Gin. Thank you." A pause. "What are they doing?"

Gin shrugged, carefully composed. "I'm not sure. I didn't go in."

Aizen brightened. "Oh! Maybe Ulquiorra is teaching Grimmjow how to cook! That would be nice!"

"Uh, maybe," Gin replied. Only when he was out of the room did he dissolve into giggles unbefitting of a high ranking ex-shinigami. "Cooking!" he choked out. "Ha! Stupid Aizen!"

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OH GIN YOU DIRTY MINDED RAT YOU

...listen to Aizen more, he's SMRT.


	4. Lesson Three

NEW CHAPPY WH00T

I hope never to ever have as big a gap as there was between the first two chapters...I'm trying...

Anyway, thanks so much to 123HappyFrog for the idea of this lesson! It got me thinking...if anyone wants to see something cooked (or rather, destroyed) by Grimmjow and Ulqui, just message me and I'll try to do it!

DISCLAIMER: no owning Bleach for me.

WARNING: If you try to actually learn how to cook from this fic, you're gonna be damn disappointed, buster. Plus you'll probably start a fire. I can't cook for my life.

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"Hey, Ulquiorra,"

The pale Espada looked up. "You're late."

"Sorry. I went out of my way to avoid Gin. He's been giving me the creepiest looks lately. Hell, he even winked at me the other day!"

Ulquiorra frowned. "He winked at me, too, earlier," he admitted. "It was rather…alarming."

Grimmjow thought a moment, than shook his head. "Hey, Gin's a creepy guy," he shrugged. "I just hope he doesn't find out I ate all his licorice Twizzlers."

Ulquiorra raised his eyebrows but made no comment.

"Well, what are we gonna do today? You said it was going to be something interesting..."

Ulquiorra looked slightly…sheepish. "Well, there actually not enough food to make anything…I need to go shopping. I'm not sure what…"

Grimmjow was momentarily flummoxed. "Lemme see what we got." He went over to the cabinets and flung them open dramatically. He appraised the bare shelves, but Ulquiorra was right; there was nothing. He braced himself, and clasped the handle of the giant fridge. He had never gotten over his traumatic experience with the fridge when Aizen had assigned him as cook.

Grimmjow wrenched open the door, flinching as the cold air roared out at him. He rummaged a bit in the back, until, waaaay in the back, his hand came in contact with a package. He pulled it out. "Hey! Cookie dough!"

Ulquiorra got up from where he had been sitting at the table. "Oh…I'd forgotten I had that…" he said, vaguely. "Okay, we'll make cookies."

"HELLZ YEAH!" Grimmjow ripped open the packaging eagerly.

Ulquiorra watched him, an almost confused look on his face. "you get so worked up about the slightest things," he said in bewilderment.

"But Ulquiorra! It's _cookies!_" Grimmjow argued, flinging the lump of frozen dough into a bowl and that into the microwave. When it had thawed, he pulled it out. Ulquiorra had greased a cookie sheet, and Grimmjow spooned a clump of the tannish dough onto it. Then he picked up a chunk with his fingers and popped it into his mouth.

Ulquiorra wrinkled his brow. "What are you doing?"

Grimmjow set another chunk of dough on the sheet. "Eating, duh."

"But it's not cooked."

Grimmjow's teal eyebrows shot striaght up and disappeared into his equally teal hair. Wait-do you mean to say you've never eaten raw cookie dough before?"

"Why would I?"

"Ulquiorra! Few things in this life are as perfect as raw cookie dough!" Grimmjow scraped some from the side of the bowl and offered it to the pale Espada. "here."

Ulquiorra looked at it, doubtfully.

"Come on, it's not poisoned," Grimmjow said impatiently.

Ulquiorra took the cookie dough onto his finger, and licked it cautiously. He blinked. "It's not half bad," he mumbled, licking some more. Grimmjow smiled, triumphantly. "Told ya."

Ulquiorra swirled a pale finger around the bowl, and had some more. "Alright, it's very good."

Half hour later, all the cookie dough was gone. Grimmjow looked regretfully at the empty bowl. "I guess we can't bake cookies now,' he said, sadly.

"How can you say that?" Ulquiorra demanded. "You just ate a whole package of raw dough!"

"You had a lot of it," Grimmjow protested. "We need to go shopping tomorrow, anyway. Get more food."

"Um…maybe we could get some more cookie dough," Ulquiorra mumbled.

"Of course! God, you're turning into a fucking cookie dough whore!"

"_What did you just call me?"_

"Erm…nothing…sir…"

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Don't insult the Cuatro.

Again, if you have a suggestion for a lesson, message me. ^^


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